


Dare to Breathe

by RollingTomorrow



Category: Tales of Graces
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 19:57:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1720703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RollingTomorrow/pseuds/RollingTomorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had grown up always looking over his shoulder, expecting the worst to come at any moment. Even though he had worried about it countless times, no amount of preparation could steel him for when nightmares shifted into reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dare to Breathe

He didn't dare to breathe.

The sounds of swords clashing and connecting with armor echoed down the hallway. Rain pounded relentlessly against the window, like an ominous melody behind the violence. His face was pressed against the cold floor, but he felt a puddle of something warm gathering under his cheek. The sickening smell of blood filled his nose, and though it was still warm, the person it came from would soon be cold.

He couldn't risk making a sound.

A guttural shout was uttered from a soldier as a sword dropped and clattered against the floor. He dared to hope that it was one of the enemy soldiers, but the triumphant cheers crushed the thought in a moment. Several voices came together to chorus their victorious cry.

_"Prince Richard is dead! Prince Richard is dead!"_

He couldn't let out the breath he held.

He felt an armored boot collide with his side as they continued to celebrate his supposed death. The force of the blow rolled him onto his front, fully into the growing puddle of blood. The only fortune of it was that his grimace at the sudden throbbing was hidden from their sight. He was all too aware of the bodies all around him, the slaughtered servants who remained loyal to the true royal family. The bodies of several soldiers and an unfortunate maid surrounded him on the floor.

He couldn't chance opening his eyes.

He listened to their chant as they continued down the corridor, silently grateful that they were departing to celebrate. His lungs burned for adequate air, though the enemies were still too close for him to take that risk. They continued to kick the bodies of the soldiers they had slain, as though disrespecting them made their victory more glorious. He finally chanced a desperate breath for air when the echo of their cheering resounded at a safe distance away. He breathed with deliberate slowness and waited until all of their noise was nothing more than a faint echo. Hiding among the bodies made him feel sick, but he had no choice.

It was like a nightmare that he fruitlessly wished to wake from.

If there was an element of the situation worse than being trapped, laying there, it was the invisible line between allies and enemies. The rebel soldiers were still of Windor, they were still his people - they had simply chosen a bloodier side. Nevertheless, friend and foe wore the same armor; no one could be trusted.

While he was no stranger to the weakness of royal security, living without trusting anyone other than himself was tiring. As he finally picked himself off of the floor, he was acutely are of just how exhausting it was. He had grown accustomed to checking everything twice for a lethal flicker of movement while hiding it all behind a polite smile. It was a way of life, but it was agonizing for the reality of the danger to set in. As he tried to rub some of the blood off his face, he wondered where he would be if he actually did have an ally to save him.

_**We could have killed the whole lot of those dullards.** _

He winced at the sound of the voice filling his head. Even if  _that_  being felt like they were in an alliance, the prince reciprocated no such feelings. He knew that his most deceitful enemy resided in his own mind.

"I won't kill my own people for no reason," he said aloud, his voice quiet and pained.

_**Don't be so chivalrous. There's only so much I can do to keep this corpse of ours working.** _

He leaned against the wall for support as he tried to fight the dizziness off. The voice in his head that was so distinctly different from his own only helped stir up unhelpfully unpleasant memories. He placed his hand over the wound on the side of his waist, momentarily imagining how easy it would be to sink back down on to the floor and let the dizziness win.

Regardless, he was never one to take the easy path.

"I have to…find my father," he murmured.

_**You actually think he's still alive?** _

He forced himself to straighten and start moving forward. He knew that he couldn't hope to reach the throne room unarmed, even if he wasn't in the best of shape for a fight. He noticed a display rapier with ornate engravings on gems on the hilt mounted upon the wall down the corridor. It may have been a decorative weapon, but it was still a weapon.

"My father is not a weak king," the prince retorted.

_**But he's old. An old man cannot last long when his guards turn traitor.** _

He took a deep breath as he approached the mounted weapon and stretched as he reached for it. It wasn't mean to be easy to pull down, but he managed to grab the point of the sheath and part it from the rack. The blade looked as though it had not been sharpened in many years, but it would have to suffice.

_**You can ignore me if you really want to, but you cannot ignore reality.** _

"Lambda…"

_**What?** _

"Be silent."

His voice was as cold as the metal hilt he held on to, though Lambda only scoffed in response. Each step he took was labored, but the pain was becoming familiar in a strange way. It did not lesson, but expecting it at least made it more tolerable for him. Every step down the bloodstained halls revealed more destruction and carnage.

_**Fine. Just don't forget our agreement to keep you walking.** _

He willed himself forward with the hope that the royal guard remained loyal. Even if other factions and divisions betrayed them, those who were the most loyal the crown may have stayed on their side. It was a hope that he simply could not let go of; the alternative was too horrible.

The sword he carried seemed to get heavier as he continued onward. There were a few incidents where had to hide from soldiers of uncertain alliance, but he was wise enough not to enter a fight that would be too much for him. At that point, his biggest advantage was that the enemy thought he was dead.

It got increasingly difficult to navigate the palace in stealth with the throngs of soldiers populating the halls. He knew of all the old passageways and hiding places from when he would run from responsibilities as a boy, but they weren't plentiful enough for him to seek sanctuary for very long. He took one of the servant's narrow corridors to descend a few floors, but he would have to move out in the open when he get closer to the throne room.

Once he was in a room off the main corridor, he crept over to the door and pushed it open just far enough to peek out. The corpse of a soldier leaned against the wall directly across from the door. There was only one soldier patrolling the hallway, but the sight was bittersweet. He could defeat one soldier even in his current state, but the man's leisured stroll implored something dreadful waiting ahead.

He didn't waste any time. He departed from the room and got as close to the soldier as he could manage in silence before rushing forward. He grabbed the back of the armor around the soldier's neck and jerked him backward as he put the blade of his rapier against the man's neck.

"Who do you work for?" the prince demanded in a low, harsh voice that hardly sounded like his own.

"Prince Richard?" he stammered as he reached to draw his sword. "You're supposed to be dead!"

As much as he hated to act without mercy, the prince knew that no ally would answer so vaguely or draw so abruptly. He closed his eyes momentarily as he jerked the dull rapier backward. It was a quick and effective way to deal with the enemy, though he still winced when the armored body sagged against him in death. He dragged the body slightly away from the middle of the hall before setting it down carefully.

_**I was going to congratulate you on your good work before you decided to make such a fuss. It's just a body, drop it. It's not as though these traitors treated your men with any respect.** _

The voice of that other being in his mind too often resounded louder than his own thoughts.

"This was a citizen of Windor," he mumbled, grimacing as he stood up. "He doesn't deserve to be tramped over in death."

_**Being so sentimental can easily get you killed.** _

It also bothered him when that voice's words carried a truthful ring to them. He still didn't want to listen – he couldn't bring himself to face it like that. It would be like beckoning for their connection to grow deeper.

He didn't need any more horrible things in his blood.

He forced himself to continue to the throne room, regardless of what awaited him there. A sick, hollow feeling started to take root in him as he heard the sound of cheering in the ascension room below the throne room. The voices were loud, triumphant, and rang out with a lurid joyfulness. He still grasped at the faint hope that they could have been cheering in success at stopping the attack against the castle.

Richard stopped where the hall ended and pressed himself against the wall before he chanced a glimpse into the ascension chamber. He held his breath and gripped the hilt of his blade tightly enough to make his hand turn white beneath the black glove.

The sight he beheld was enough to silence every thought in his mind – both his own and his demon's.

His uncle, Cedric, stepped out of the throne room and stood at the top of the stairs with the royal crown atop his head. He held his sword in one hand and in the other, the head of the last king –  _the head of his father_  – high and proud. As real and plain as it was before the young prince's eyes, there was still something too shockingly horrid about the reality around him for him to accept.

"King Ferdinand is dead!" Cedric shouted as he threw the head down the stairs, letting the blood splatter the carpet all the way down. "I am your king! The true ruler of Windor has risen to the throne!"

" _All hail King Cedric! All hail King Cedric!"_

The chorus of voices exploded, filling the room and echoing far through the palace. The soldiers were too preoccupied to look back at him, but he pulled back before Cedric noticed his presence. It was a nightmare, a bad dream that he would wake from and be so fearfully grateful that it was naught but a trick of his mind. As nice as it would have been to believe in such naïve wishes, his position was too dire for such dreams. The first thought to penetrate his numbed mind was not even his own.

_**You need to run.** _

_**You have to get out of here before they kill you too, there's nothing you can do right now.** _

His body shook but he let the breath out. He stared at the floor, reluctant to even accept the reality of his situation, but the image of his father's head rolling down the stairs was emblazoned too deeply in his mind to ignore. There was no more wondering or fearing the very worst would happen to what little family he had left. The worst had already come to pass.

_**Run, you fool!** _

He forced the disbelief and growing despair as far away as he could. It may have been another thing that he did not want to acknowledge, but Lambda was right. His gloved hand trembled on the rapier as he made for the safest escape route. He couldn't stay in the palace; he knew that much to be true. His uncle Cedric's attempts to steal the crown as well as his home had finally come to a bloodstained fruition.

He forced his memories from his mind as he hastened his pace to a run. He ran from the room – the  _grave_  – as quickly as his feet would carry him. The path to the passage into the royal sanctuary was a blur in his mind. Even when he had to fight, even when he was injured, it hardly mattered. He stumbled into the dark, cavernous catacombs and collapsed onto his knees.

He gasped for breath as he looked around the distantly familiar place and welcomed the far away memories into his mind. He embraced the recollection of disappearing into the darkness in hope of meeting up with such a dear friend, even though the endeavor ended tragically. He was alone, much like he was then, but now without the expectation of allies.

When he first heard the sound of footsteps, he tensed and expected soldiers. He placed his hand back on the hilt of his rapier, even though he was in no condition for another confrontation. He lifted his head to see who approached and tried to will himself to prepare for another fight. However, it was instantly clear that no threat was emerging from the shadows.

Instead, it was those same two allies, led by that willful young man who had saved the prince so many times before. He blinked in surprise, hesitant to believe that his fortune could change so suddenly. It was almost impossible to believe after everything he saw that this desperate endeavor into the catacombs could actually go right. Somehow, it became easier to suppress all of those horrible memories.

Those blue eyes he could hardly believe he was seeing always carried hope in them.

**Author's Note:**

> Richard said that he hid among the bodies to escape during the attack against the royal family and the description of that one rapier of his said something about being more of a decorative weapon than one meant for combat.
> 
> Add the prompt "All Around Me" and two semesters of working on this in math class, and viola! :'D


End file.
